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lord-squiggletits · 4 months

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On the MegOP fandom trend of saying "Optimus should apologize to Megatron"

(Speaking specifically for IDW1, though it applies to a lot of MegOP especially ones that do continuity soup with heavy reference to IDW1)

I was talking to a friend in DMs and they mentioned a common headcanon/fanfic trope that I also concurred with, and both of us said it's something that bothers us: a common take in the MegOP fandom goes basically along the lines of "If Optimus had just apologized to Megatron, the war would've ended" (or other variants including "if he'd tried harder to understand Megatron/work in collaboration with him").

And firstly, this is incorrect for a number of reasons:

There were attempts at peace negotiations during the war, but they fell through. So Optimus WAS trying to work with Megatron to the point of participating in formal diplomatic meetings.

Optimus tried multiple times on page to convince Megatron to just stop fighting and work with him for peace (Autocracy, Chaos Theory) that Megatron rejected. Given that these on-page examples take place at the start of the war and at the end of the war respectively, it makes sense that Optimus asking Megatron for collaboration is something he was trying/willing to do the entire time. So again, Optimus was always willing AND ATTEMPTING to work with Megatron and find a joint solution

Even before the war when Optimus was still Orion, he was very explicitly inspired by Megatron's writing and names Megatron as one of the people who "opened his eyes" to the wrongs of Cybertronian society. So how is it that people claim "the war went on for too long because Optimus never tried to understand Megatron" when OP literally named Megatron as one of his biggest idols, thus implying that OP does understand Megatron's ideals

But the primary purpose of this post wasn't to defend Optimus, actually. Even though I personally think Optimus did plenty (dare I say, everything) to try to end the war, there are some who may still think otherwise, so instead of arguing about whether Optimus did "enough", or who should apologize to whom, or who "deserves the blame" for starting/continuing the war, I'd actually rather talk about this:

No matter who is most "to blame" for the war, it's my firm belief that neither Megatron nor Optimus would even expect/demand the other to apologize to them at all.

On Megatron's side, he would never seek to judge Optimus negatively for the decisions to the point of saying "you wronged me, apologize." Whether it's evil Megatron who doesn't care about atrocities and revels in an opportunity to expose Optimus as a hypocrite, or post-war/Autobot Megatron who knows that his own evil actions are irredeemable, the idea of Megatron judging Optimus and demanding an apology for the war specifically strikes me as out-of-character. Why would Megatron demand or even want an apology from Optimus when Megatron knows fully well that he has his own sins to bear, he prolonged the war for his own selfish/material gain, and that he is responsible for an untold amount of suffering? Demanding an apology would imply that Megatron sees himself as the wronged party and Optimus as the wrongdoer, but by the end of the war, Megatron is too aware of his own part in the war to ever demand such a thing of Optimus. Even if he DID think that Optimus was "equally to blame" for the war (which he doesn't/wouldn't, btw), Megatron's own feelings of guilt would prevent him from trying to seek the petty satisfaction of the moral high ground or making Optimus beg for his forgiveness.

Additionally, Megatron knows Optimus very well as a person: he knows that the position of leadership is full of "loneliness [and] agonizing self-doubt" for Optimus (Chaos Theory) and that "when Optimus hurts others, he hurts himself" (MTMTE). Another reason that Megatron wouldn't demand nor want an apology from Optimus is because Megatron knows Optimus so well that he already knows that being a war leader fills Optimus with immense guilt and suffering. Given that Megatron knows about Optimus' self-doubt and guilt, why would he even need an apology when he already knows how much Optimus regrets the war and desperately wishes/wished for it to end?

Then, as established in the previous paragraphs, Optimus is too full of guilt for his part in the war (both before it started and in being unable to stop it sooner) to demand an apology from Megatron. Again, demanding an apology would put Optimus in an implied position of moral superiority and/or victimhood, but Optimus doesn't see himself as morally superior or as a victim (or rather, he sees himself as being responsible for these bad things happening and internalizes this as a duty to do better/fix wrongdoings). In other words, Megatron and Optimus both share this view of themselves and each other: Their hands are so dirty, and they both feel such guilt over this, and they know each other well enough to know that the other feels this way as well. Because both of them feel blame for the war and are acutely aware of their own flaws/part in suffering, both of them feel far too responsible for the war happening for them to ever blame their archnemesis for "not trying harder" or "being responsible for the war."

Hell, if you even look at the socio-political climate of Cybertron before the war started, neither Megatron nor Optimus were the ones who put this conflict into motion. The corrupt legacy of the Primes, Functionism, class issues-- all of these things existed before Megatron and Optimus did. Even once they started doing things like writing about social issues (M) or fighting against the Senate (OP), both of them were "underlings" in sense that they weren't leaders:

Megatron's writings may have inspired the Decepticon movement, but that movement existed as an independent entity with its own leaders and speakers long before Megatron became the "official" ruler of the Decepticons. He wasn't even the leader of the 'Cons until he took control of the gladiator arena and the nonviolent sections of the Decepticons were (presumably) subsumed into the underground, exploitative battle culture that Megatron created.

Optimus-as-Orion was a police officer to start, but even once he started going against the Senate, he mainly worked in collaboration with others like Senator Shockwave and Zeta (later Zeta Prime), who he either saw as his idols or who were literally superior to him in rank due to government/military structures.

So with this in mind, even from a social level, while Megatron and Optimus may have been "catalysts" of a sort that caused the war to escalate to an outright planetary/galactic level, the scenario is too complex to solely lay the blame for the war at either of their feet. I'm not confident in saying that Megatron/Optimus would explicitly think of this when talking to each other, but what I'm trying to say is that M/OP were just catalysts in a long chain of brewing tension that exploded into a war. Even if one could claim that one of them "started" or "escalated" the war, the social issues that caused the war and the positions of power that allowed them to become leaders in the first place were falling into place before either of them actually BECAME leaders.

In other words, this shared fate of being the final reaction that exploded a societal conflict into outright war... Megatron and Optimus both have that in common. And because of this, I really don't think either of them would even think to ask the other to apologize because they're both in such similar positions, with such similar feelings of guilt and responsibility, that they understand each other's feelings without words. To demand an apology would be akin to taking that shared vulnerability/guilt and stepping on it, attempting to claim that one is right/superior and the other is wrong/inferior, and that the inferior one needs to grovel and take responsibility for the bad things that happened.

#squiggposting #idw megop #idk if this'll get me hate or not but it's something i think about a lot #and verbalizing it to that friend in DMs helped me put into words why that common fanon take bothers me #also. hot take but if any 'apologies' are necessary then it's M who should be apologizing to OP #the war may be both of their faults but M is the one who explicitly did/said things just to hurt OP and break his spirit #i'm tired of ppl who don't understand (or at least don't discuss) how hurt OP is and how he deserves recogniztion of his feelings too #megop #then again this fanon take may just be a consequence of continuity soup culture #where ppl don't have to acknowledge specific things that M or OP did bc they can just selectively include or not include details from canon #so like. i guess in their continuity soup continuties their fanon is technically correct #but in terms of the source material which is the one shared experience we all have and the common language we derive fanon from #this fanon is very incorrect. or at least i hope i've managed to argue that it's incorrect #anyways the thesis of megop is that they're equals and opposites who are inextricably tied to each other #fanon that tries to place the blame on one or castigate one of them is missing the point of megop #the point is that they're equal. equally strong and charismatic and amazing. and equally culpable #even if they're not literally equally responsible for idw megop at least they at least both FEEL responsible #and i don't think idw megops are the type to mince words about who's 'more responsible'#they're both depressed old men who hate themselves and regret basically their whole lives. why would they judge each other like that

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moonshine-nightlight · 2 years

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Nothing's Wrong with Dale: Part Thirteen

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Chapter 13 - MoonshineNightlight - Original Work [Archive of Our Own]

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six][Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight][Part Nine][Part Ten][Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] Part Thirteen [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two] [Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four] [Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

You try to distract yourself by fussing with your hat, angling it so it best blocks the morning sun from your eyes. It’s too easy to resituate though and so your gaze is drawn back down the jousting lane where Dale waits at one end for his first jousting round of the tournament.

Already the archery competition had been held, in which Dale had competed last in deference to his recovering injuries. He claimed to be more than sufficiently healed from his wrestling with the boar and the doctor took full credit for this recovery. In the end, he’d placed in the top third of the competition and seemed pleased with that, archery never having been even former Dale’s particular passion or strong suit.

The martial tournament had three competitions: archery, jousting, and melee. Everyone competed in archery, which determined the tournament match-ups for jousting. The top four competitors in the jousting rounds then also fought with melee weapons in a champion tournament—although there were certain exceptions within jousting that could result in mounted swordplay, something you knew happened but had never understood what actually called for it. Heavy armor was worn for the jousting and then chainmail for the melee. Though no one is supposed to be aiming to kill, injuries are not uncommon. Despite protests to the contrary, plenty of knights bring grudges from outside the competition into it.

For the first round, every knight jousts against two different opponents, resulting in the elimination of anyone who was fully unseated or too injured to compete. People could also simply choose to no longer compete, but that came with a fee and a significant blow to one’s pride. Then a bracket is drawn up based upon how well each did as well as random lots drawn for those judged to be of equal skill. While no special consideration is given to Dale any further with regards to his injury, he has still ended up being one of the last few to tilt.

At first you had been grateful for the reprieve, but you find it's only given your nerves more time to grow sharper. You’ve never enjoyed jousting, never having been able to watch any of your family members or friends do it and barely able to tolerate watching strangers either. And now, with Dale’s condition, there is a whole range of new factors and considerations and chances for things to go wrong.

Not that he seems nervous, you think a bit impetuously. Dale is already mounted on his horse, a sturdy and beautiful black gelding. If the rumors about animals sensing demon possession are true, they evidently don’t apply to horses as Blacklock appears completely at ease with having a demon on his back. Right after Dale puts on his helm, a trumpet blast signals for the combatants to get into position for the first pass.

Dale’s horse walks over where he needs to go with barely any signal on Dale’s part, clearly used to this activity. Dale lowers his lance into position across his horse’s withers, the blunted tip seeming to sharpen the longer you contemplate it. With his helm on, you can’t read his face, but he seems confident enough in the high tilting saddle with the long lance in his hand. Has he done this before? You rather thought demons were particularly feral with their fighting and had little need for weapons, but who knows how many times he’s been on the Surface. You hope he has experience of his own, or at least can rely on Dale’s.

All you can do is watch as the flag lowers and they charge at one another. It happens both slowly and too fast as they brace and clash together. No one ends up on the ground and nothing breaks, but it's still clear that Dale’s opponent, Knight Catherine of Alry—recognizable to you only because her lands border your family’s—is the superior jouster. Dale hadn’t risen in time to strike well and had been knocked firmly back in his saddle hard enough you doubt its padding helped much. Her follow through was far more clean and confident than his own.

The next pass resulted in her lance breaking off and while Dale had improved his timing, his lance did not break. As such, it’s no surprise that she is awarded to win. Despite the loss, you feel only relief—no one has been injured, no particular mistakes were made, no demonic signs were obvious, and no unusual strength was notable.

You nearly jump out of your seat when a loud ‘harumph’ interrupts your thoughts. You turn to see one of Dale’s uncles—Wellington, who’d been on the hunt—frowning at the field. “Boy’s out of practice after all that time abroad,” he grumbles to Breighton on his other side. “After how he performed on the hunt, I was expecting more.”

While a small part of you wants to speak on Dale’s behalf, mostly this comment makes you want to breathe out in relief that no one suspects anything. Breighton rolls her eyes at her brother, “He did fine—didn’t even get unhorsed. You’re simply still sore over your loss to Alry in that race last year.”

Wellington scowls and Grandfather laughs, clapping his son on the shoulder from his spot in the row behind you. “That so?”

You take the opportunity to surreptitiously check how Grandfather seems to be reacting. He’s rather good at keeping up his usual attitude in public, but he’d been tense in the lead up to this part of the tournament. You hope he hadn’t noticed you’d been the same. He seems to have lost some of that tension, although not all of it. He catches your eye and you resist the urge to duck down and away—trying to think of how you would act if nothing was out of the ordinary. You smile politely, returning his look, before gazing back over to Wellington as he says, “That has nothing to do with this tournament nor Dale’s showing in it. He clearly kept up with his woodscraft and hunting, but obviously his jousting was neglected. That is all I was trying to say.”

Breighton continues to needle her brother, with Grandfather assisting, about whatever race he participated in against Alry while you finally feel that your stomach has settled enough to have something to eat. You help yourself to the platter the family has continually replenished, noting since Grandmother is the grand judge, Grandfather’s tastes are more obviously represented. As such, there’s more dark meat and generally a plainer array of offerings. You don’t mind the change, preferring such simpler fare when your stomach is still rather stirred up from stress.

Desiring something warm, you help yourself to the stew. Blowing on it lightly, you take a sip. Blinking in surprise, you notice that, unlike how you expected it to be, it is rather heavily seasoned. Primarily with rosemary and thyme you identify after another sip, the dish having been so heavily seasoned you needed extra time to identify the herbs.

In fact, your next mouthful causes you to cough a bit at the overpowering taste. Once you’re able to have a drink to help your throat and are reaching for a piece of bread to help with the strong flavor, you realize Grandfather’s eyes are on you. Abruptly, you recall rumors about both of those herbs supposedly helping to purify those tainted by demonic energies.

Resisting the urge to look to see if he actually is looking at you, you make the decision to finish off your bowl at least, no matter how heavily seasoned. You don’t want him to turn his suspicions to Dale himself, but you want to do your part in discouraging him from this line of thinking entirely. Also, there have definitely been meals since Dale’s incident that involved those herbs, so he’s obviously only trying very basic testing methods at this point, which makes you feel better.

You’d taken advantage of both Dale’s absence and Steward Bilmont’s knowledge of what had happened, to spend some time in Dale’s study and peruse some of his more illicit books on demonology with mild confidence of privacy. Most of them were too dense and theoretical for you to get much from, but yesterday night you found that Steward Bilmont had slipped one volume in particular into your rooms regarding possession and influence, including signs and symptoms.

You believe Dale had gone to great trouble to bring these tomes in, given Northridge’s heavy regulation of such materials, and hope Grandfather is having trouble getting his hands on similar books. You also hope that you’re not misplacing your faith in what Steward Bilmont reported regarding Breighton’s disbelief and how he believed Dale innocent of any such studies and therefore would not be searching his study. That did bring up the idea of him searching your chambers, which seems far too overt for him to attempt at this moment. Nevertheless you resolve to read quickly, taking shorthand notes only, and getting the volume back to Dale’s study as soon as possible.

It had a whole section on herbs and plants—identifying which were actually potentially useful in detecting demonic influences and which were mere myth. Most, you are grateful to remember, are not useful generally, let alone in their raw state. However, you didn’t have a lot of time to study that section yet and you make a note to do so once you retire for the evening, before Grandfather stumbles upon something that does more than result in overly seasoned soup.

You finish the stew slowly, with more bread than usual, but no other signs of discomfort as Dale’s next round comes up. This one goes far more favorably for him, even if primarily due to his opponent’s poor horsemanship rather than his own skill. At least no one can claim favoritism on behalf of the judges even if Grandmother is heading the panel—a pair of strong opera glasses to combat her usual sight challenges. Both of Dale’s matches have had obvious winners to be ruled in favor of and all other grandchild—two of his cousins competing as well—matches have been judged similarly.

The other judges are another of Dale’s uncles and a neighboring Lady. None of the heckling you’ve occasionally heard has started, although perhaps it's simply not late enough in the day for people to be drunk enough to do so. After each bout, they declared a winner after debating and considering each competitor's technique, horsemanship, skill, and strength. Grandfather and Wellington discuss each match on their own, likely mirroring the conversation being had on the other side of the field. Breighton chimes in as she pleases, though you are able to piece together she’s no interest in the lance and is instead holding out for the melee later on, or perhaps even with plans to join the fencing duels tomorrow.

There’s a pause while the tournament brackets are finalized, the remaining spots assigned, and the stew is thankfully taken away—you have no desire to eat anything with thyme in it for a week at least. Grandfather seems to have gotten caught up in the tournament atmosphere and has lost all tension—or perhaps that’s just the wine he’s been drinking.

Dale ends up one of the first rounds after the break and he wins the first two tilts easily. It's only the third, which hits at an interesting angle, that is at all ambiguous. You keep getting caught between relief as he continues to perform similarly to the others—humanely—while also nervous that he might be more likely to slip as he gets tired, though it's hard to tell how he’s holding up from the stands. When he’s not actively tilting, he’s out of sight with the other competitors and their squires—you hope he won’t slip out there either. Some part of you feels as if letting your guard down will cause something to go wrong and resists the urge to relax.

Dale’s next bout takes time to come about and you distract yourself from the tournament by talking with some of Dale’s cousins on your other side, who joined late having slept in—and who also luckily have no problem carrying the conversation with minimal input on your side.

This time, the first pass goes to his opponent when his shield splits neatly in two. Wellington scoffs, “He should have replaced his shield after his last round, Jellsum got lucky going after that hit from Voothkain.”

“I agree,” Grandfather says, echoing your thoughts, “however, there are still two more tilts. Dale can recover.”

Sure enough, Dale manages to nearly knock the knight from Jellsum off their horse next round and in their attempt to stay seated, they steer their horse into the barrier between lanes—practically guaranteeing their loss by the judges.

This time between matches you try to pay more attention to the others participating, the competition will be fiercer as only skilled opponents remain. Could one of them be strong or skilled enough to make Dale forget himself? Or perhaps it's the less skilled ones, getting by on the luck of their opponent’s horse getting frightened who might throw Dale off.

Either way, by the time Dale next tilts, the last one of the day and the round that determines who fights in the champions melee instead of the all around, you’re strung tight with tension once more. Seeing who he’ll be competing against does nothing to quell that feeling. The knight from Eastmount had made a few waves as the first person to unseat their opponent, particularly given his less than burly build. However, both Grandfather and Wellington had remarked that he’d done well in other tournaments recently and so weren’t terribly surprised. He’d shattered a lance nearly every tilt in this tournament and is one of the favorites to make it to the final four.

Dale lines up for his tilt, fresh lance in hand. You catch a glimpse of Eastmount’s face before he pulls his helm on, he certainly looks confident. Soon enough they charge down the lane at each other, lances lowered. Both connect with shields and break, cracking about a third off in length each, showing a similar amount of strength and precision from their wielders.

When they both retreat to their sides, you think you see Eastmount turn to say something to Dale, but it's impossible to say what. Dale is hard to read with his helm on, but his horse is a little clearer, prancing more than usual to offload some tension in his rider as he retrieved a new lance. Something about his demeanor seems more serious, more focused. Eastmount seems cocky still, adjusting his bejeweled gauntlets that glint in the sunlight, ostentatious enough for competition that one of Dale’s cousins remarks on them too.

The trumpet blast and thunderous sound of hooves brings your focus sharply back to the jousting lanes. They hurtle at each other with even more momentum, or so it seems to you, than before. Both their lances shattered in an explosion of wooden splinters. You blink at the sight, and upon remembering the tale of the man felled by one such splinter in his eye, immediately check Dale for signs of distress. To your relief, he seems to have no trouble guiding his horse, though he’s shaking out his hand from the impact.

For some reason that strikes you as odd. Perhaps Dale has gotten particularly good at playing his role, but you’re really not sure he would have thought to do such a thing. That means either it was a normal amount of pressure and he was simply surprised at what could affect humans or… Or that something else is going on here, that the impact was precisely as devastating as it seemed and even Dale, with whatever accordances he had still felt it significantly enough for him to, without thinking, flew his hand.

Still, it's not unheard for both lances to break with particularly strong opponents and they acquire their replacements, lining up for another tilt. This second tilt has the same prickling tension concentrates once more and you find yourself holding your breath as they meet and both lances shatter once more, drawing murmurs and raising your hackles.

Technically, despite the three passes already completed, the tilts have Dale and his opponent at a tie. As such, Grandmother orders a delay in the round while a new set of lances is procured and thoroughly inspected.

The other knight takes off his helm and motions for his squire. He’s a moderately built man with a large mustache that you think must get uncomfortable in the helm. He looks angrier than you expect, not frustrated or bewildered, but furious and, more importantly, trying to hide it. He keeps glaring impatiently at the squire dashing to him or Dale, as if he thinks what’s going on is their fault. He doesn’t look to the judge or to the man who made the lances—currently being questioned by the judge. He’s not checking any of his equipment, just—his squire finally joins him and he dismounts.

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Dale’s done the same, but you keep your focus on the opposing knight. His horse is blocking him from view by your side of the arena, but there are dozens of highly polished and decorative shields all around the stands. You find the right one and watch as he seems to berate the squire, gesturing first at Dale and then brandishing his removed gauntlet in the man’s face.

The squire appears to be protesting, likely trying to explain whatever standstill these two are at isn’t his fault. But why would it be? How could it be? The furious knight jabs a finger at his horse, thrusts his gauntlets and shield into the squire's hands before stalking away. Tents fill the field near the jousting arena, one for each competitor to wait in, and he leaves likely to return to his own.

Instead of following the knight, you keep watch on the squire, noticing the way he runs his hands over the equipment in his hands, appearing to possibly be check the back of his shield, before running fingers over the saddle and possibly even the saddle blanket underneath? He only does so for a few seconds before he freezes, barking an order to stablehand. To your surprise, he gives the man who comes over the shield and gloves, not he reins for the horse and together the two hurry out of the arena.

Only a few seconds after watching them leave did you realize what else struck you as odd—the stablehand had been dressed as one, but did not look like one. He’s too clean and too pale. They are obviously up to something nefarious—some form of cheating that evidently was not working as expected, hence Eastmount’s anger.

Tuning back into the chatter around you, the twin shattered lances two rounds in a row is causing some talk to fly, but not much. From what you hear, no one in your immediate surroundings thinks anything in particular is happening, merely commenting on the amount of strength the two men must have. Impressive given neither are particularly large or muscular.

Of course, while Dale is managing his strength better, you know why he might have more strength than he appears to have. But it’s not as though this man likely also has the same condition. But perhaps, given his fixation on his tools at hand, Eastmount is using something to that effect. If he gets careless with such a thing, if either he pushes so hard Dale missteps or enough to reveal what he’s doing and Grandmother judges they must start testing the competitors…

You stand before you even realize you’ve made the decision to, making an excuse to Dale’s family around you about needing a private moment. Once back on the ground, instead of heading towards the outhouses, you picture the series of tents in your mind and try to deduce where Dale will be waiting to be called back. You aren’t sure if your information will would be at all helpful—he probably already knows what’s happening and who knows if he’ll believe you—but you can’t in good conscience continue to watch this without warning him.

You spot his squire and walk determinedly in that direction to relay what you know.

[Part Fourteen]

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